So the most interesting thing happened yesterday. I am working on the food-service campaign and we went to talk in front of the LA Metro board to try and get them to be neutral in Aramark negotiations. We planned on having a local faith leader speak on behalf of the community, but because of difficulties with timing, she was unable to stay. I chose to wear my collar yesterday because I am wearing in instances where I think it would be beneficial and yesterday was my first time that I wore it during this internship. Through a series of instances it was determined that I would speak!! Needless to say I was a nervous wreck before hand. All I had to do was read from our talking points, but still was freaking me out. I tried to reach my bestest friend to pray before hand, but he was unavailable. When they called my name to speak, I almost peed my pants. I got up to the podium, my knees were shaking! I read my piece and surprisingly I got through it. I was able to read effectively and hopefully i got my point across. When I was done, it was such a sense of relief.
We were told during training that we shouldn't be the one's to be the face of the movement, but are to be the people behind the scenes, but here I was at one of my first actions, speaking before a board. I was happy to do it, but could definatley say that it was out of my comfort zone, but not in an area that was completely inacessible. I think I grew a little. I have always been hesitiant to think that I have what it takes to be effective, but when pushed I can do things that I didn't think I could do. That is the power of the spirit in my life. We;ll what the rest of the summer brings.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
American Citizens Deported!
On June the 24th a group of us here at CLUELA attended the ICE Commission hearings where workers and supporteds reported on atrocities committed in the name of national security.
The worse story was a younfg man whose brother who suffers from disabilities who was arrested for a misdemeanor. After his 3 months were up he was deported. His brother had gone to pick him up and he was gone.
When approached on this subject the goverment continued to deny that they would deport a us citizen.
Long story short it took 3 months to find his brother who had been living on the streets of Tijuana alone a frightened.
this was one of many stories told over a five hour hearing.
The worse story was a younfg man whose brother who suffers from disabilities who was arrested for a misdemeanor. After his 3 months were up he was deported. His brother had gone to pick him up and he was gone.
When approached on this subject the goverment continued to deny that they would deport a us citizen.
Long story short it took 3 months to find his brother who had been living on the streets of Tijuana alone a frightened.
this was one of many stories told over a five hour hearing.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Triumph in Failure
I had my first visit with a pastor yesterday in Grant Park. Kelly Fryer heads a church (Christ the King Lutheran Church - www.chicagolooplutherans.com) of only about 20 members, with no assets, no building, no long-range plans, no Christmas decorations with blonde-haired baby Jesuses, no bell-choir. Though raining, they insisted on having their service (capped by an animal blessing) outdoors, with wet hymn books, bulletins, and fogged-up eye-glasses. But oh, would it that all churches could be so bathed in Spirit they were! Not only was the pastor interested in helping out IWJ but so were many others in the congregation. The secretary, a smiley woman named Sandra, had actually TALKING to people in the days leading up to the service saying how excited she was that I was coming that day to talk about how they might get involved with our mission. And I even got a hug and a cup-cake for coming.
Then, on the bus back, I saw the strikers going round and round the front of the Congress Hotel. The Spirit said 'Get off' and I did. I sent a text to my girlfriend saying I'd be home late, said 'hi' to the co-ordinator, grabbed a picket sign, and joined the fray, full of memories the 1000+ people who'd mobbed the place the week before and another satisfying round I marched this past Friday. But today was different.
Nobody wanted to shout. Nobody wanted to sing. Even the picketer who Friday had blown his police whistle so loud it cracked the concrete vases didn't want to bother today. Making it worse, the exit way was crowded with up to 10 - 20 angry guests checking-out and checking-in - cars almost running into the picketers a few times. One man, surpassing his fatness only by his arrogance, even shouted at a group of three picketers:
'If you lazy m0therf-rs would get off your asses and get real jobs you wouldn't have any money problems to begin with!!'
Though the man easily equaled all three of them in weight and size they quickly ganged up on him, surrounding him, and started shouting him down with whatever English they knew, shaking their arms and fists and signs until he took refuge - hmm - behind his wife. The couple then shuffled off to the street, where they eventually fled via taxi.
The subsequent rise in the blood felt good, but within a few minutes the old lethargy came back. One picketer kept talking on the phone the entire time he marched, another only talked about how she wanted me to get water for them, and the others looked little more than apathetic - the only upside being the 6 hours of strike pay they would get from the union. There was no energy, no optimism, no happy chatter and laughing. Just the sad truth that so many have worked so long and so hard but with no result.
Yet they keep coming, every day, Monday - Sunday, from 6 am to 9 pm. Without fail, even though the strike - after five long years - has yet to bring about any change in working conditions or wages for any of them and has, in essence, failed. So why bother?
At a conference Arundati Roy spoke once spoke about people who strive for dreams 'in which failure is feasible, honorable, sometimes even worth striving for'...
'There are plenty of warriors that I know and love, people far more valuable than myself, who go to war each day knowing in advance that they will fail. True they are less successful, in the most vulgar sense of the word, but by no means less fulfilled. The only dream worth having... is to dream that you will live while you're alive, and die only when you're dead.'
And that's what I saw this day. For all their fatigue, frustration, uncertainty, they will never quit - even if it is only indifference and inertia that keeps their steps from becoming too heavy and painful, even if deep down they really don't care anymore. They are alive, and they aren't giving up. Ever.
It was a good day.
Then, on the bus back, I saw the strikers going round and round the front of the Congress Hotel. The Spirit said 'Get off' and I did. I sent a text to my girlfriend saying I'd be home late, said 'hi' to the co-ordinator, grabbed a picket sign, and joined the fray, full of memories the 1000+ people who'd mobbed the place the week before and another satisfying round I marched this past Friday. But today was different.
Nobody wanted to shout. Nobody wanted to sing. Even the picketer who Friday had blown his police whistle so loud it cracked the concrete vases didn't want to bother today. Making it worse, the exit way was crowded with up to 10 - 20 angry guests checking-out and checking-in - cars almost running into the picketers a few times. One man, surpassing his fatness only by his arrogance, even shouted at a group of three picketers:
'If you lazy m0therf-rs would get off your asses and get real jobs you wouldn't have any money problems to begin with!!'
Though the man easily equaled all three of them in weight and size they quickly ganged up on him, surrounding him, and started shouting him down with whatever English they knew, shaking their arms and fists and signs until he took refuge - hmm - behind his wife. The couple then shuffled off to the street, where they eventually fled via taxi.
The subsequent rise in the blood felt good, but within a few minutes the old lethargy came back. One picketer kept talking on the phone the entire time he marched, another only talked about how she wanted me to get water for them, and the others looked little more than apathetic - the only upside being the 6 hours of strike pay they would get from the union. There was no energy, no optimism, no happy chatter and laughing. Just the sad truth that so many have worked so long and so hard but with no result.
Yet they keep coming, every day, Monday - Sunday, from 6 am to 9 pm. Without fail, even though the strike - after five long years - has yet to bring about any change in working conditions or wages for any of them and has, in essence, failed. So why bother?
At a conference Arundati Roy spoke once spoke about people who strive for dreams 'in which failure is feasible, honorable, sometimes even worth striving for'...
'There are plenty of warriors that I know and love, people far more valuable than myself, who go to war each day knowing in advance that they will fail. True they are less successful, in the most vulgar sense of the word, but by no means less fulfilled. The only dream worth having... is to dream that you will live while you're alive, and die only when you're dead.'
And that's what I saw this day. For all their fatigue, frustration, uncertainty, they will never quit - even if it is only indifference and inertia that keeps their steps from becoming too heavy and painful, even if deep down they really don't care anymore. They are alive, and they aren't giving up. Ever.
It was a good day.
Hijab, Feminism, & Interfaith Dialogue
Dania is an intern with me in Chicago - she works on the floor below me at Chicago Interfaith Committee on Worker Issues while I work upstairs at the National IWJ office. She's the beautiful French-Canadian Muslim, veil-wearing girl who frequently stated throughout orientation week how fascinating she thinks America is.
During orientation week, I had several enlightening conversations with her. Even though she is a practicing Muslim and I am currently ambivalent about my faith, through speaking with each other, we discovered we have many of the same beliefs and ideas. Through these conversations, we both realized we were reading the same book - Eckhart Tolle's "A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose." The book describes, "how transcending our ego-based state of consciousness is not only essential to personal happiness, but also the key to ending conflict and suffering throughout the world," (Amazon Review).
Before speaking with Dania, I cannot recall having an actual conversation with a practicing Muslim. I consider myself very in tune with feminist ideals and I could never wrap my mind around the idea of wearing a veil and staying entirely covered-up in front of men. This practice seemed strange to me and I felt it rather sexist. But by talking to Dania and being prompted to look into the ideas behind wearing the veil, I've come to new conclusions. Now, I can draw parallels between the wearing of the veil to particular feminist movements when women demanded to be taken seriously not because of their feminine beauty and external looks, but because of their thoughts and ideas. Additionally, so much of superficial culture is in effort to define one's identity through clothing - "this is my style," "this is who I am because this is how I dress," when in actuality, no matter how unique your fashion is, it can clearly never come close to defining anything real.
Hijab on Wikipedia
Islam & Eckhart Tolle's A New Earth (Message Board)
The American Dream
I don't believe in it. As I walk down Chicago's streets I try finding this satisfactory smile that would be labeled as "The American Dream". But I haven't - neither from the poor or the rich.
I don't believe in your nation's dream because it revolves around materialism. It'll only convince you to pursue more and more and hey more again. The dream never takes shape because it is a dream and you are reality.
That's one thing I wish IWJ would have talked about. You can't be two persons. You can't fight for the rights of workers and then contribute to the system that puts them down, in whatever subtle action it may be. Bravo IWJ you did select the Retreat center instead of North Park, but it doesn't stop there.
Similarly to those that wear shirts with Che's face on it. Are you mad? If you knew anything about him, you'd know that's the last thing he'd want you to do. In order to support "la revolucion" you can't contribute to the system (i.e. the big manufacturer that tries to break it down). They're putting your ideology on a shirt, but they're getting your money in return and using it for their own profit. And so you never had a revolution, you had a counter revolution. It was in your mind and was signed on a shirt....but it stayed there.
That is where religion is important. It'll teach you the greatest of all revolutions and greatest of all liberations.
The interfaith part of IWJ makes no sense if it's there to speak about how religion restores "moral ethic" such as thou shall not kill, or speak ill, or abuse of others. Those are natural laws, not religious ones. Whether you're a monk, an atheist, agnostic, part of faith tradition or not, you comprehend those because it's part of your fitrah (natural and pure state as a human). That's part of being a human - not a religious person. It is your humanity that's being called upon.
On the other hand, being a religious person means you take the route to meeting your Lord. You become prophetic, not just human, but prophetic. You are beauty because of the struggle ( or jihad, yes my friends, jihad) against your nafs (yourself, your ego), which is the greatest of Jihads.
Religions will teach you more than natural laws, they'll teach how you shouldn't be a consumer, a materialistic person, how to contain your lowly urges. This is the true revolution. This is the one that liberates you and I and workers, and not only a picket line. Your fight for them starts with the fight against the lowest part of you. It starts with you and not only by attacking CEO's. This is where the interfaith part is adequate because all religions teaches us the highest of all spiritual liberations.
It starts and ends with you.
This is your revolution for you and him and her and us.
I don't believe in your nation's dream because it revolves around materialism. It'll only convince you to pursue more and more and hey more again. The dream never takes shape because it is a dream and you are reality.
That's one thing I wish IWJ would have talked about. You can't be two persons. You can't fight for the rights of workers and then contribute to the system that puts them down, in whatever subtle action it may be. Bravo IWJ you did select the Retreat center instead of North Park, but it doesn't stop there.
Similarly to those that wear shirts with Che's face on it. Are you mad? If you knew anything about him, you'd know that's the last thing he'd want you to do. In order to support "la revolucion" you can't contribute to the system (i.e. the big manufacturer that tries to break it down). They're putting your ideology on a shirt, but they're getting your money in return and using it for their own profit. And so you never had a revolution, you had a counter revolution. It was in your mind and was signed on a shirt....but it stayed there.
That is where religion is important. It'll teach you the greatest of all revolutions and greatest of all liberations.
The interfaith part of IWJ makes no sense if it's there to speak about how religion restores "moral ethic" such as thou shall not kill, or speak ill, or abuse of others. Those are natural laws, not religious ones. Whether you're a monk, an atheist, agnostic, part of faith tradition or not, you comprehend those because it's part of your fitrah (natural and pure state as a human). That's part of being a human - not a religious person. It is your humanity that's being called upon.
On the other hand, being a religious person means you take the route to meeting your Lord. You become prophetic, not just human, but prophetic. You are beauty because of the struggle ( or jihad, yes my friends, jihad) against your nafs (yourself, your ego), which is the greatest of Jihads.
Religions will teach you more than natural laws, they'll teach how you shouldn't be a consumer, a materialistic person, how to contain your lowly urges. This is the true revolution. This is the one that liberates you and I and workers, and not only a picket line. Your fight for them starts with the fight against the lowest part of you. It starts with you and not only by attacking CEO's. This is where the interfaith part is adequate because all religions teaches us the highest of all spiritual liberations.
It starts and ends with you.
This is your revolution for you and him and her and us.
Your Story is Important
At the end of the IWJ internship training we participated in the fifth anniversary of the Congress Hotel strike. Unite Here Local 1 reached an agreement with the rest of the Chicago downtown hotels for a living wage and other much needed benefits for employees five years ago. The owner of the Congress pulled out of negotiations saying that because it was one humble family owning the hotel....read more
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Privilege to be Guilty
Today, I had a bit of a crisis.
I guess that's not quite an accurate statement, as these thoughts have flown in and out of my consciousness since I was ten and realized that I, unlike some of my downtown-dwelling friends, lived in a nice, safe suburb.
This is my life. I've led a life of privilege. I have no memories of my family struggling to pay bills, no recollection of struggling to put food on the table, no inkling of what it's like to be in any kind of financial crisis. But this privilege goes beyond money.
I am white, heterosexual, and Catholic. According to society, I am at the perfect socio-economic level, somewhere between poverty and gross riches. Yes, I pay for my groceries on an intern's salary. But, if I don't have enough money, my parents will graciously foot the bill. I have a car and a cell phone, a laptop, and a $40,000 a year education. And I am often disgusted by all of these things, although I've never had the courage to give them up.
These thoughts began today at the grocery store where I think I experienced something some of my peers would refer to as "reverse racism." I say this with caution. I am many things besides "white." But, in the very short encounter with little time or information to draw from, this is how I experienced it.
I was in a line with an African American cashier, sandwiched in between two African American mothers, kids in tow. As I loaded the week's food onto the belt, I overheard snippets of a conversation about financial struggles. The topics were normal, price of gas, price of food, price of gas and food compared to price of car insurance, etc. The two people didn't seem to know each other especially well, but, for some reason, their conversation cheered me. I'm a true lover of people, of conversations, of reaching into unfamiliar territory and finding a friend. Goodbyes. My turn.
I stepped up to slide my Debit card and greet the cashier. I smiled and said hello. We exchanged pleasantries, and I prepared myself for an ensuing conversation. Nothing. Was it my food? My sweatshirt, proudly displaying the name of my pretentious (yes, I need to find a good synonym) college? My demeanor? Any of the other thousand indicators in my appearance that indicate who I am and present myself to be?
I felt somewhat discouraged. I moved down to bag my own groceries, as the cashier began a lengthy conversation with the woman behind me.
I walked out, experiencing some strong feeling between anger and frustration. Why can't we have a conversation about how much gas costs? Why can't you complain to me about alternative energy plans? I have a voice, too.
Again, I can't say it was a race thing. Maybe it was ageism. Or any other number of things, but as I obsessed over the situation, I was covered in an overwhelming sense of guilt.
Who am I to complain about the state of the economy? My family is financially secure. I have health care, an environmentally friendly car that runs on little gas and a credit card to back me up whenever I reach a financial crisis (which has never happened). And I don't deserve any of it. I was born into it.
This entire internship experience has been about re-examining my default understandings. Even as I type this, I analyze my thoughts and words for prejudice, for stereotypes, for bias. I work to uncover and unpack my notions of the world. And I hope to be able to see things from the perspectives of everyone else, of anyone else, of all else.
But the fact of the matter is, I have it good. And I guess this summer will be about finding out what I can use it for.
Until then, the guilt sits and the frustration lingers. I type on my laptop (paid for by Mom and Dad), listen to Liszt (which I was taught to appreciate during my 17-year long trek in music studies) and sleep at night, having confidence that tomorrow will not be a crisis in health, finances, employment, or any of the other countless things that so many of my brothers and sisters face.
So, I pray for my eyes to widen, for my ears to open, for my heart to expand. And I do so with the hope that, despite all of these labels, I am first and foremost human.
I guess that's not quite an accurate statement, as these thoughts have flown in and out of my consciousness since I was ten and realized that I, unlike some of my downtown-dwelling friends, lived in a nice, safe suburb.
This is my life. I've led a life of privilege. I have no memories of my family struggling to pay bills, no recollection of struggling to put food on the table, no inkling of what it's like to be in any kind of financial crisis. But this privilege goes beyond money.
I am white, heterosexual, and Catholic. According to society, I am at the perfect socio-economic level, somewhere between poverty and gross riches. Yes, I pay for my groceries on an intern's salary. But, if I don't have enough money, my parents will graciously foot the bill. I have a car and a cell phone, a laptop, and a $40,000 a year education. And I am often disgusted by all of these things, although I've never had the courage to give them up.
These thoughts began today at the grocery store where I think I experienced something some of my peers would refer to as "reverse racism." I say this with caution. I am many things besides "white." But, in the very short encounter with little time or information to draw from, this is how I experienced it.
I was in a line with an African American cashier, sandwiched in between two African American mothers, kids in tow. As I loaded the week's food onto the belt, I overheard snippets of a conversation about financial struggles. The topics were normal, price of gas, price of food, price of gas and food compared to price of car insurance, etc. The two people didn't seem to know each other especially well, but, for some reason, their conversation cheered me. I'm a true lover of people, of conversations, of reaching into unfamiliar territory and finding a friend. Goodbyes. My turn.
I stepped up to slide my Debit card and greet the cashier. I smiled and said hello. We exchanged pleasantries, and I prepared myself for an ensuing conversation. Nothing. Was it my food? My sweatshirt, proudly displaying the name of my pretentious (yes, I need to find a good synonym) college? My demeanor? Any of the other thousand indicators in my appearance that indicate who I am and present myself to be?
I felt somewhat discouraged. I moved down to bag my own groceries, as the cashier began a lengthy conversation with the woman behind me.
I walked out, experiencing some strong feeling between anger and frustration. Why can't we have a conversation about how much gas costs? Why can't you complain to me about alternative energy plans? I have a voice, too.
Again, I can't say it was a race thing. Maybe it was ageism. Or any other number of things, but as I obsessed over the situation, I was covered in an overwhelming sense of guilt.
Who am I to complain about the state of the economy? My family is financially secure. I have health care, an environmentally friendly car that runs on little gas and a credit card to back me up whenever I reach a financial crisis (which has never happened). And I don't deserve any of it. I was born into it.
This entire internship experience has been about re-examining my default understandings. Even as I type this, I analyze my thoughts and words for prejudice, for stereotypes, for bias. I work to uncover and unpack my notions of the world. And I hope to be able to see things from the perspectives of everyone else, of anyone else, of all else.
But the fact of the matter is, I have it good. And I guess this summer will be about finding out what I can use it for.
Until then, the guilt sits and the frustration lingers. I type on my laptop (paid for by Mom and Dad), listen to Liszt (which I was taught to appreciate during my 17-year long trek in music studies) and sleep at night, having confidence that tomorrow will not be a crisis in health, finances, employment, or any of the other countless things that so many of my brothers and sisters face.
So, I pray for my eyes to widen, for my ears to open, for my heart to expand. And I do so with the hope that, despite all of these labels, I am first and foremost human.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Demanding Change!
Gathered together,
strong, weathered, tired and tried.
Listening to lies,
Challenging the ties,
Not being bound,
destined to be found.
The truth is buried,
Crying to be uncovered.
Colors are struggling,
Screaming, "We are one!"
Put away your guns,
We will not be done!
Intimidation tactics,
just some childish antics.
Cries for peace will always be answered.
Today, along with about 400 members of the Phoenix community we gathered to demand a change in the tactics of Sheriff Joseph Arpaio. Many of the faith community gathered, community and labor organizers. It was a brave turnout since this "man" arrests people, makes the men wear pink underwear in an attempt to emmasculate them. They are handcuffed in pink handcuffs. Some are taken to the desert and housed in tents! This outrageous behavior has been allowed by the city government for too long! Citizens are demanding change! I encourage you to be informed about the injustices in Maricopa County.
Peace and Justice to all!
strong, weathered, tired and tried.
Listening to lies,
Challenging the ties,
Not being bound,
destined to be found.
The truth is buried,
Crying to be uncovered.
Colors are struggling,
Screaming, "We are one!"
Put away your guns,
We will not be done!
Intimidation tactics,
just some childish antics.
Cries for peace will always be answered.
Today, along with about 400 members of the Phoenix community we gathered to demand a change in the tactics of Sheriff Joseph Arpaio. Many of the faith community gathered, community and labor organizers. It was a brave turnout since this "man" arrests people, makes the men wear pink underwear in an attempt to emmasculate them. They are handcuffed in pink handcuffs. Some are taken to the desert and housed in tents! This outrageous behavior has been allowed by the city government for too long! Citizens are demanding change! I encourage you to be informed about the injustices in Maricopa County.
Peace and Justice to all!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
we object on the part of the awakening workers of this nation...
They have always taught and trained you to believe it to be your patriotic duty to go to war and to have yourselves slaughtered at their command. But in all the history of the world you, the people, have never had a voice in declaring war, and strange as it certainly appears, no war by any nation in any age has ever been declared by the people.
And here let me emphasize the fact-and it cannot be repeated too often-that the working class who fight all the battles, the working class who make the supreme sacrifices, the working class who freely shed their blood and furnish the corpses, have never yet had a voice in either declaring war or making peace. It is the ruling class that invariably does both. They alone declare war and they alone make peace.
Yours not to reason why;
Yours but to do and die.That is their motto and we object on the part of the awakening workers of this nation.
If war is right let it be declared by the people.
-Eugene Debs 1918
Riddle
A man is talking to God.
The man: "God, how long is a million years?"
God: "To me, it's about a minute."
The man: "God, how much is a million dollars?"
God: "To me it's a penny."
The man: "God, may I have a penny?"
God: "Wait a minute."
Question: What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but not once in a thousand years?
The man: "God, how long is a million years?"
God: "To me, it's about a minute."
The man: "God, how much is a million dollars?"
God: "To me it's a penny."
The man: "God, may I have a penny?"
God: "Wait a minute."
Question: What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but not once in a thousand years?
I am the People, the Mob...
I Am The People, The Mob
Carl Sandburg
I am the people--the mob--the crowd--the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is
done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the
world's food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons
come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And
then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns.
I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand
for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me.
I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted.
I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and
makes me work and give up what I have. And I
forget.
Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red
drops for history to remember. Then--I forget.
When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the
People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer
forget who robbed me last year, who played me for
a fool--then there will be no speaker in all the world
say the name: "The People," with any fleck of a
sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision.
The mob--the crowd--the mass--will arrive then.
-Francisco
Carl Sandburg
I am the people--the mob--the crowd--the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is
done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the
world's food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons
come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And
then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns.
I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand
for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me.
I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted.
I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and
makes me work and give up what I have. And I
forget.
Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red
drops for history to remember. Then--I forget.
When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the
People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer
forget who robbed me last year, who played me for
a fool--then there will be no speaker in all the world
say the name: "The People," with any fleck of a
sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision.
The mob--the crowd--the mass--will arrive then.
-Francisco
New
New beginnings are like mornings: peaceful with the promise of more later. These days they’re cool and light, even early in the day.
I find myself savoring these moments. I know things will be rushed later in the summer, and inevitable deadlines and dilemmas will challenge me. But after the press of a semester’s end and what felt like non-stop student-dom day in and out, this time of new relationships and places, new information and procedure, new grace to goof up and learn is a change and a blessing.
-Cheryl
I find myself savoring these moments. I know things will be rushed later in the summer, and inevitable deadlines and dilemmas will challenge me. But after the press of a semester’s end and what felt like non-stop student-dom day in and out, this time of new relationships and places, new information and procedure, new grace to goof up and learn is a change and a blessing.
-Cheryl
Long Rows of Solitude Lead to a New Beginning
An experience that has lead me to where I am happened when I was fifteen years old and was working amongst undocumented workers in corn fields, onion fields, and orchards. This experience helped me understand the condition of workers. At first, each row I walked through felt like a long journey of solitude, but then as my coworkers (mostly male) helped me I felt I was making progress. They cared for me, even though I had done nothing to deserve it. They taught me that all workers should be treated with dignity and respect no matter who they are or where they come from. We sometimes worked 16 hour days and it was very difficult me. However, I was fortunate to have been there by choice instead of by obligation or need. Some workers could not find another job. No matter what their skills were they had no choice but to work there in order to provide for their children. I admire those workers and I am so glad to have experienced this with them.My journey to this point in my life has been wonderful, I am a Junior at Seattle University majoring in Theology and Religious Studies. I feel called in this direction because I know that one’s faith has the power to transform one, it also motivates and influences one more than almost anything else. As I am growing, I am learning that we as humans are called to believe in God for many different reasons. I find refuge in God, with God’s help I have learned how to love more passionately and to accept the love that is given to me. I have also been inspired to do acts of mercy. This summer I am hoping to come to a better understanding of what God wants me to do. I know that I need to pray a little more and ask for help in order to find my true path. I am willing to explore many paths but I know that this exploration will lead me down a row that may be filled with solitude like the corn rows I worked in. However, sometimes those are the best rows because they give you time to reflect and gather your thoughts and when you least expect it someone joins you and is ready to help you get to the end. I hope that the people around me see the difficulty of “my row” and decide to come along for the journey. And when we reach the end there will be water waiting for us, which to me represents a new beginning, a baptism, a new life with God… We need this in our society and I have faith that it will be accomplished.
-Ydalia
I'm an angry man.
I'm serious.
I'm an angry man.
I can thank the Evangelical Lutheran Church for this revelation, confirmed by a personality battery I took about two years ago. It said had problems expressing anger and that I would often try to avoid confrontation if it threatened my sense of personal well-being. Well, they were quite right. But it had more to do than with me being timid, and more with me just getting tired of offending people. Explanation...
I am NOT a quiet soul. I had a habit of stepping, unintentionally, on people's toes and feelings and views because of my unbridled exuberence and joy. Was I arrogant? Well, yeah, a bit. But I also had strong feelings and convictions and when you're trying to actually DO something, well, you have to DO something which means getting the attention of anyone who is doing something else or is doing nothing. Consequently you're easy to see, easy to target, and easy to criticize. I did learn a lot about the importance of listening, of giving others their space, and respecting boundaries in ways that give people room to feel safe, breathe, and grow. It was good.
But that's not why I got shy of confronting people.
I got shy because everytime I'd try worship ideas I'd get some status quo church crony up in arms that I didn't follow the script. Or I'd mention a word like 'beer' when talking to church people and I'd be labeled as a 'risk for our youth'. After years of hearing that kinda swill you just sorta clam up.
But I'm done now. DONE.
My pastor in Geneva, Lusmarina Campos Garcia (www.genevalutheran.ch) helped me to acknowledge and accept my radical nature. I had to accept it. Denying it was making me neurotic and touchy - much like those who were oh-so eager to rub my nose in my own crap while ignoring the mountainous PILES they squeezed through their backsides day-in and day-out. And since, this frustration, this heat, I now know as a pure and brilliant anger - a righteous anger.
-Francisco
I'm an angry man.
I can thank the Evangelical Lutheran Church for this revelation, confirmed by a personality battery I took about two years ago. It said had problems expressing anger and that I would often try to avoid confrontation if it threatened my sense of personal well-being. Well, they were quite right. But it had more to do than with me being timid, and more with me just getting tired of offending people. Explanation...
I am NOT a quiet soul. I had a habit of stepping, unintentionally, on people's toes and feelings and views because of my unbridled exuberence and joy. Was I arrogant? Well, yeah, a bit. But I also had strong feelings and convictions and when you're trying to actually DO something, well, you have to DO something which means getting the attention of anyone who is doing something else or is doing nothing. Consequently you're easy to see, easy to target, and easy to criticize. I did learn a lot about the importance of listening, of giving others their space, and respecting boundaries in ways that give people room to feel safe, breathe, and grow. It was good.
But that's not why I got shy of confronting people.
I got shy because everytime I'd try worship ideas I'd get some status quo church crony up in arms that I didn't follow the script. Or I'd mention a word like 'beer' when talking to church people and I'd be labeled as a 'risk for our youth'. After years of hearing that kinda swill you just sorta clam up.
But I'm done now. DONE.
My pastor in Geneva, Lusmarina Campos Garcia (www.genevalutheran.ch) helped me to acknowledge and accept my radical nature. I had to accept it. Denying it was making me neurotic and touchy - much like those who were oh-so eager to rub my nose in my own crap while ignoring the mountainous PILES they squeezed through their backsides day-in and day-out. And since, this frustration, this heat, I now know as a pure and brilliant anger - a righteous anger.
-Francisco
Other Blogs?
Here is a link to my personal blog that I just started. It's not that great yet, but maybe it will help with ideas.
If anyone else has blogs or blogs that they are a fan of - post them!
-Alex
If anyone else has blogs or blogs that they are a fan of - post them!
-Alex
Welcome!
Welcome to the IWJ Summer Student Programs Blog! I hope that everyones' first week is going well. The goal of this blog is to keep in touch throughout the summer, to keep each other updated, to inspire each other throughout the summer, and to keep everyone informed about events and workers' stories. Feel free to post any photos you took during orientation week, and photos you take throughout the summer. Social justice-related videos, articles, and stories are also great things to post! Here I've posted a mosaic I created of some photos I took during orientation week - more can be seen at our IWJ FlickR page where everyone else can feel free to post photos as well. Good luck and stay in touch!
-Alex
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